


soli

by spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Musical References, mostly just smooches and that good love, softness and goodnes.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: together, as one.(oihina week, prompt silent night)





	soli

**Author's Note:**

> this was so good to write... i listened to Smyang Piano on youtube while writing this.... 10/10 reccomend  
> beta'd by mooksmookin!!

It’s quiet in the space they’ve made, muted to the world around them. Window panes frosted over hide the sight of shimmering stars and drifting snow, half open doors pour in only enough moonlight to gleam against the silver handle. The apartment is never warm enough, is so often a shiver down the spine and toes curled when the bed isn’t shared. Hinata clings to the empty space beside him, the phantom press of heat still lingering in the sheets. He wakes with the draft of cold air creeping over his arms, hair raising as hands reach to intertwine with someone who isn’t there.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Hinata pulls himself up, looking over the empty bed to stare at the bedside clock. It’s a half hour after midnight, and somehow he’s been left with only a sheet covering his body. The Christmas lights outside of the window glow enough to catch the silvery gold of the one ring left sitting on the wooden nightstand, cold and unaccompanied by its pair. With a soft smile, Hinata reaches for it, pushes it onto his left hand and slips from bed.

Now that he’s awake, he’s become more aware. As he pads through the empty hall, he can hear the whistle of wind outside, the laughter of their neighbours through the other wall. And now, as he stands just behind the entrance to the living area, he can hear the sweet concerto of piano filling the room.

Oikawa looms over the keys, the melody rolling from his fingertips through the instrument in a careful caress of keys. The _chunk_ of each pedal pressed keeps a gentle percussive beat, a breath down Hinata’s neck, a resonance that hums into his core. There’s more light here, enough so that the sheen of the piano nearly blinds Hinata’s dilated eyes. Oikawa has yet to notice him, eyes still shut, lashes coasting over his cheeks, engrossed in the music he plays. On his on left hand, the matching ring shines, a twinkle, a nod of hello as the song transitions into something louder, the crescendo stealing all the air from Hinata’s lungs.

Even now, after living together for five years, he doesn’t get to see this side of him often. There isn’t any trace of performance, of a mask or a shield to hide the emotion flickering across Oikawa’s face. He was never one to play in public, and the private moments where he’d play for Hinata were always ones he cherished. Now, in a moment just his own, Oikawa lives in the song, stealing all of the joy from the neighbours laughter, the soprano of the wind, the _dolce_ hum from Hinata’s lips. Ashy brown hair falls over his face as he leans down, tempo strengthening, hands travelling higher and higher up the octaves until the sound is barely more than a tinkle of chimes in the wind.

When he stops, Hinata lets go of the breath he had been holding, crosses the threshold of their living room to place a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. The magic is not yet broken— Oikawa doesn’t startle. He leans into the touch, ducking so that Hinata’s palm cups his cheek instead. Earthy eyes open half-way and stare up at him, a smile playing across chapped lips as Hinata moves to brush his free hand through the strands of Oikawa’s hair. It’s still damp from his shower, enough that it cools his already clammy hands enough to shiver.

“Your playing is always lovely,” Hinata tells him, his voice catching in disuse. “What was the song?”

Oikawa sighs in content as Hinata’s fingers massage his scalp. “A bit of _Romeo and Juliet,_ a bit of the  _View of Silence_ ,” he responds him. With a smooth turn of his head, he presses his lips to Hinata’s palm, kissing the centre of his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I missed you is all,” Hinata says, moving both of his hands so that they rest at Oikawa’s neck. “Come back with me? It’s cold without you there.”

Oikawa’s breath hitches as he inhales, his eyes fluttering shut as he nods. “Always,” he murmurs, as if their voices weren’t any louder than a whisper before.

They pad back to the bedroom leaning into each other’s weight, Hinata curled into Oikawa’s shirt. He smells like pine and worn cotton, like dreams and the memory of summertime. Hinata revels in it as he lays back down on their bed, still shivering from the chill of the room. Oikawa notices, drapes his own body overtop of Hinata before tugging the covers all around them. Instinctively, Hinata tangles his legs with Oikawa’s, feet icy but thighs warm enough that he sighs in relief. Gingerly, Hinata reaches his hand out from the covers to trace over Oikawa’s jaw, lifting it enough that their mouths angle together. With the world frozen around them, they kiss, a stolen moment from the ever playing music box of their lives.

Oikawa is a heavy weight atop Hinata— his hips bony enough to to poke into his sides, but he’s nothing if not warm. Using one arm to prop his upper body off of Hinata’s chest and the other to cradle his head, Oikawa continues kissing him, the brush of lips unhurried, reverent. Hinata’s tongue slides across his bottom lip just enough to make Oikawa press closer, just enough that the kiss becomes less sleepy and more passionate. Every once chilled nerve in Hinata’s system flickers alight, warming his core and drawing loving breaths from his lungs. Oikawa breathes each one in, bites his lip soft enough to only be called a graze. Still, it makes Hinata’s toes curl just slightly, makes his hands wander back under the comfort of their covers and under the thin protection of Oikawa’s shirt to rest on his back.

That hand uses all of his strength to bring Oikawa down further, Hinata breaking the kiss to bury his face into the crook of Oikawa’s neck. The warmth radiating from Oikawa’s pulse points seeps into Hinata’s cheeks, the humidity of his breath leaving Oikawa’s skin damp. Tentatively, he kisses where his collarbone meets his neck, just out of sight from his shirt collar. So often is Oikawa the one to do this, to leave little marks across Hinata’s neck and chest, but he’s here now, sapping the heat, so the favour is returned. Mouthing further up his neck, Hinata listens for the familiar strangled hum that vibrates through Oikawa’s throat. In turn, it travels through his mouth, makes the pressure grow as Hinata sucks a mark on the underside of his jaw. When Oikawa moans, it’s as quiet as the rest of their night, nothing more than a testament of praise for only Hinata to hear.

Hinata pulls back, and Oikawa immediately connects their lips once more, licking into Hinata’s mouth so that their tongues brush against each other. His weight has shifted now, his embrace encompassing Hinata’s small frame as one arm wraps around his back, the other still resting beside his head. He lets the drag of their lips control the pace, falls into Oikawa’s rhythm fully, gives into whatever whim he rides on with no holds barred. This trust, this connection, even in the darkness, burns bright. Oikawa presses their foreheads together for half a second so that he can just _look_ into Hinata’s eyes, watching how his face flickers between lax and tense.

He breaks away and moves down to nibble on Hinata’s ear, tugging the lobe between his lips, hot breath fanning out on his neck. The hand on his back coasts through his arch, Hinata’s inhale as sharp as ever as Oikawa continues to chase what he knows is sensitive, moving so that his lips lick along Hinata’s jaw and down his neck. For the one mark Hinata left on him, Oikawa leaves another five, carried away by the toss of Hinata’s head into his other hand, the small sighs of encouragement that escape his lips every time his toes curl. The trail of heat left by his mouth burns along Hinata’s neck, centres around the heavy weight of Oikawa’s tongue on his throat. His muscles tense only to relax a moment later, the dance one of a constant push and pull leaving Hinata breathless and simply wanting more.

 _Tooru_ stutters off his lips in broken syllables only half formed, a jumble of words that taste like iron and saltwater taffy in the best way. Oikawa’s hair tickles his jaw as he straightens again, sitting up enough to look down at Hinata in all his softness. His ginger hair splays out against the pale white of the pillowcase, his fingers curled around nothing, face lax and lips parted, shiny with spit. Eyes big, brown, blown, stare up at him through thick lashes, speaking volumes, echoing vows and promises and moments shared with only piano to break the silence. Oikawa removes his hand from Hinata’s back and clasps Hinata’s left hand in his, bringing his ring finger to his lips to kiss the white gold of the band. The metal has warmed enough not to be cool against his lips, and Hinata’s hands, ever soft, intertwine with his the moment they touch.

“Are you warmer now? I can help more, if you’d like,” Oikawa asks, voice low and thick, running viscous like honey on a spool. Hinata shudders, no longer from the cold, and shifts underneath him, smile spreading across flushed cheeks.

“I trust you,” he tells him, exhaling the words in a voice that carries music without tune. He doesn’t need to say it for Oikawa to understand the love behind his words.

And Oikawa kisses him again, cherishes his trust and worships Hinata with all of the grace he deserves. Shirts fall to the floor, bare chests somehow warmer when pressed together, heartbeats thumping out of time, loud against each other’s skin. Oikawa finds rapture in every noise he can draw out from Hinata’s lips, whispers his name for each bone of his ribcage, says _Shouyou, Shouyou, Shouyou_ in twelve-eight time. When lips caress his sternum, Hinata lets his eyes close, knows he doesn’t need to see in the dark to feel the unravel in the pit of his chest.

There’s no need to keep hushed, but they do anyways. Maybe it’s out of habit, or in effort to keep the delicate peace that rings true through the night. Oikawa doesn’t care either way, whispers into Hinata’s ear as he holds him steady through the motions, through all the gentle touches that leave Hinata unspooling. Oikawa chases his movements like the tide, ever breathing and moving in accordance to the bliss clear in Hinata’s face, the furrow of his brow, the scrunch of his nose. He does the talking, soft, nothing more than a murmur, never more than what they need. Hinata curls fingers in his hair, tugging, brushing through, and Oikawa brings their mouths back together because the sensation of his fingers on his scalp will never not make him melt.

They stay like that for awhile, sewn together, lips brushing as they breathe, eyelids drooping heavy with sleep. The clock has long since crept into the early hours of the morning, but they pay it no mind, not bothering to move from each other’s arms for anything more than to retrieve the covers they kicked off.

They fall asleep like that— Hinata, head on Oikawa’s chest, arms curled close as Oikawa encases him from all sides. The frost can’t creep any further than the windowsill, can’t penetrate the thickness of their comforter or Oikawa’s bare skin flush against his own. Hinata dreams of the dull _thud_ of piano keys and hands splayed on his chest, and Oikawa dreams that the gold on his left hand glows as bright as the one who gifted it to him, dreams of luminance that rivals the sun, that marvels the moon.

In that embrace, tension long since seeped from their bones, the chill melts away, thaws into two sets of lungs breathing as one— _pas de deux, soli._

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments appreciated! hmu on tumblr at spacegaykj for more


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